Princes of the Undead

Part 27

---/---

"No...No...No!"

The rap of a conducting baton against the piano top had Agatha stop in the middle of her playing. Already she had tried to complete Debussy's Suite bergamasque piano solo five times, every time being told to stop and start again. First it was her posture, then her fingering, then her timing, then her posture had lapsed again.

"What now?" Agatha couldn't help but snap, lifting her head to glare at Monsieur Mehul.

The man may come from a famous French musical family, but if there were a sharpened stake in the room, Agatha would have been tempted to off their remaining descendent.

"Your playing Mademoiselle lacks any sort of joy." Monsieur Mehul tutted, yet even he had the sense to look nervous, when an incredulous Agatha glared at him over the edge of the piano.

"I cannot imagine why." Agatha restrained herself to mere sarcasm.

"I am merely trying to help, if my expertise is unwanted..." Monsieur began, expecting to be reassured, only for Agatha to continue to glare at him.

"Perhaps we should switch back to dance practice." He suggested. "I am sure whoever your future husband is, he will excuse your lack of musical skills, if you are able to avoid stepping on his toes."

Biting her lip, knowing that her potential future husband wouldn't damn well dare make any comment on her musical skills, or her dancing, not if he knew what was good for him. Agatha chose to keep those thoughts to herself. As satisfying as it would be, to put Monsieur in his place, every time he made a comment about her lack of the feminine skills, necessary for capturing a man's interest; Agatha found the power to resist. After all, it wasn't like she wanted anyone else, talking about her relationship with Dracula in terms of marriage. It wasn't like their affair was a secret, but clearly that rumour hadn't yet been shared with Monsieur; she doubted he would be quite so rude to her, if he thought she might one day marry an Elder.

"Now from first position...."

---/---

"Honestly Mycroft where the hell did you find him?"

Collapsing onto Mycroft's sofa, Agatha ignored Mycroft's stink eye, as she dared to lift her feet up, and place the very edge of her shoes on his upholstery. That they were heels, ones she had been forced into, that had never so much as seen the outside world; well that didn't matter to Mycroft, they were near his furniture.

"He came most highly recommended. We were lucky to get him."

"No, he is evil and that's why we could get him, no one else would put up with him." Agatha retorted. "My feet are killing me, I am practicing my piano piece in my sleep, and if I have to hear another complaint about my posture."

"He has never failed to properly train a debutant, and you only have a few weeks left before your presentation. We only want the best for you, and he is the best..."

"Then how did we get him, if he is so good?"

"Ahh, there some unfortunate incident a few years ago, he was caught in bed with someone he shouldn't have been, there was an honour dual...which obviously he won." Mycroft waved it off, the less said about that archaic practice the better.

"Polite society however decided to punish him; his clan disowned him for the shame he brought upon them. So, given the chance to align himself with our clan, he took it. Word has spread about the number of sisters you have, he knows if he does well with you, then we will hire him to tutor the rest."

"Hmm Monsieur vs Lucy, that would be a battle of wills I would like to see." Agatha groaned through her smile.

Almost smiling himself, Mycroft took a moment to study Agatha in repose. Other than her taxing lessons she looked well. She was certainly dressing better, those trousers were tailored and screamed designer wear, and the sweater was both casual and elegant. It seemed Lucy's efforts with the clan credit card were paying off.